A Study In Red
by Nynaeve Mandragoran
Summary: Post Eldest, own perspective. A struggle between duty and lust.
1. Haunted

**Disclaimer**: This universe, and its characters, belong to Christopher Paolini. The featured lyrics are parts of Nightwish and Belle&Sebastian songs.

* * *

Part one – **Haunted**

To paradise with pleasure haunted

Haunted by fear

(**Nightwish** – She Is My Sin)

She ran, thunder roaring in her ears, her heart pounding in its rhythm, her eyes half shut, trying to make something out of the pouring rain. Now and then, lightning stuck, parting the sky in a myriad sparks. As her feet were carrying her by their own power, she stumbled against bodies lying on the ground, sometimes almost slipping in a mix of water and blood. It was so dark she couldn't guess what she stepped into, and for that she was thankful.

Another flash of light showed her the way. The image was terrible, yet somehow glorious in her eyes. Not too high above the ground, skilfully avoiding the lightning, the majestic red dragon was flaying unabridged, his wings spread against the storm. And on his back he was, proud at this time of need, his back straight, his dark, soaked hair flowing in the blast. The very image of a warrior - fearless, yet reckless - for she was coming for him.

She stopped abruptly, dipping her feet into the ground.

"Wherever you flee, I shall find you."

There was no change in his attitude, as if he didn't hear the words uttering in his head.

"You need me, you fool."

Still nothing. The dragon almost disappeared from her sight, carrying his rider without any sign of reluctance. And she grew suddenly mad, and rage pounded inside her as boiling water, for she was used to people listening to her orders, and she was well aware of the strength of her magic. Taking a deep breath, she forced out a silent scream.

"Are you blind, or did he take your common sense at the time of your oath?! I've got something you lack, and it's growing stronger and stronger inside me. And I'm willing to help."

"_He knows now_", she heard Thorn's harsh voice, floating in her head and reasoning in the manner of a silver gong. "_Meet us when the storm ceases, you'll know where to find us._"

The air was calm, though thick with humidity. The mighty storm had shaken trees, breaking their branches, and now there were splinters and leaves everywhere, lying on the ground, natural carpets softening her steps. For half a day she walked, until dusk embraced the mountains, and their peaks began to bleed in the dimming light of the sun.

She wasn't tired, yet anger was still reining her thoughts now and then. Not that she knew the reason for these feelings, and she kept walking, feeling their presence nearer and nearer, as she was heading for a narrow gap between two rocks, rising to her left, facing north. When she finally reached the spot, darkness was altering the landscape, trees, rocks and boulders slowly becoming mere shapes.

She looked around her. Everything was still. Not the slightest movement bothered the silence, not as much as a hare jumping back and forth. She was standing at one end of the gap, and the view in front of her was that of bare murkiness. Then she caught a tiny sound, a swish of leaves not so far. The shadow of a smile bloomed on her lips, as she was following the little noise. She needed no other guidance, and her movements were cattish and assured.

A small fire cast its barely gleaming light on the surrounding rock walls. Hiding and protecting it at the same time, the red dragon laid curled on the ground, his eyes half open, his scales emitting a pale, red glare. Leaning against his strong tail, head in his hands, Murtagh seemed asleep.

"I mean you no harm", Arya spoke, still half hidden in the shadows.

Murtagh remained still, his words coming out between his fingers, cold and grievous.

"You wouldn't if you wished it".

"I do not."

She approached the fire, stretching her arms to feel its warmth. Her leather clothes prevented rain or humidity from reaching her skin, yet she felt cold.

"Why have you followed us?"

Briskly rubbing her palms against each other, she gazed in his direction for a while.

"No idea", her answer came.

Then he rose to his feet, and came by her side. He was not much taller than her, but his presence was unsettling.

"It's good to have you here", he whispered.

She turned, facing him. Her gaze was asking countless questions.

He raised his hand clumsily, fondling her cheek.

"Do not pretend you haven't noticed."

She tried to smile, but her conscience was awake.

"If this is a bright idea of trying to deceive me, don't you think you'll succeed", she panted. He was so close, there were merely a few inches parting them. His dark features, relaxed by a faint smile, his dark eyes glittering, his dark tunic slightly unfastened, allowing a momentary glimpse of his skin … she shook her head.

He grabbed her waist, gently, yet vigorously. She didn't struggle. He was hard and strong against her, and a sudden nausea conquered her. The next moment they were kissing, tasting, biting, licking, and the whole world had hampered its boundaries, revolving around them, and only them.

That night they slept into each other's arms.

Now they were heading to Ellesméra, the only place where Eragon would never thought of searching him. Them. Riding on Thorn's back, Arya's arms surrounding Murtagh's waist, they felt the gale in their face and laughed fiercely. Yet each of them was harbouring grim feelings, for none knew what the future would bring.

4


	2. Forgotten

Part Two – **Forgotten**

_You made me forget my dreams_

_When I woke up to you sleeping_

_There was blood on the sheets again_

_And the view outside the window_

_Of gardens and bloom_

_Obscured by all the trouble we had_

(Belle & Sebastian – **You Made Me Forget My Dreams**)

"News travel fast", thought Arya.

A few hours before, Thorn had found a gap in the tangle of Du Weldenvarden's treetops, managing an abrupt landing which left his two riders unharmed, apart from a few scratches. They had travelled for the entire night, enjoying the company of the cold stars, not talking to each other. Now Arya was striding in circles, a thoughtful expression on her face, while Murtagh watched her patiently. If he was concerned, none of his features betrayed such a feeling.

After another while, she finally spoke.

"I'll take the risk. I'll bring you in front of my people."

"News travel fast", he muttered. She startled. Since when were they thinking alike?

"I'm well aware of that fact", she snapped. "So be prepared. If they find out, and they will, eventually, you'll have to be gone in a split second. Otherwise it will be too late, and everything we realised will be gone."

He stared at her in disbelief.

"What did we realise, Arya? I don't understand."

She smiled. Her hand touched his, the look in her eyes almost prankish.

"We shall."

It was easy enough to keep Murtagh in hiding, but Thorn was another story. So they had to split, the red dragon accepting to spend a time into the wild, hunting or resting at ease, as long as he took care not to be seen. He seemed to consider Du Weldenvarden as a kind of challenge, so the need to persuade him was not brought into discussion.

"For them all, you are Taghmur, and things like Dragon Riders or using magic are unfamiliar to you. They sound like legends to your ears. You cannot pass as a mere peasant; you are too imperial in your attitude and speech."

He glanced sideways at her flattering words.

"Therefore, you'll be a spy come from far away, from Galbatorix' court itself, bearing vital information we've got to deal with together."

"Sounds like a good plan", he nodded, patting Thorn on his fierce head.

"Of course, you'll have to conceal that sword."

"I will not leave it anywhere", he grunted. "It is rightfully mine, and if I ever need to defend myself …"

"Never said you should get rid of it. Just keep it away from the others' keen eyes."

They walked in silence into the unexpected.

His morning awakenings were soothing; the view of the surrounding trees in bloom always brought a sensation of peace into his troubled conscience. Yet the nights were painful and ramping, the voice in his head enraged and pursuing him incessantly, the words bitter, and demanding, and sometimes obscene. It became clear as dawn, after a short while, that he couldn't handle it alone anymore.

One certain day, before the appearance of the first, faint sunrays, he woke up abruptly, strangling a roar into a sigh, his fingers pale while clenching the bed sheets. There was blood, spread over the soft material, and his back felt like bare flesh exposed to sunburn.

"Turn around", she said faintly, her eyes lacking colour.

He obeyed, the loud gnash showing his pain.

"Your scar …"

There have been nights when she used to caress his bare back, while he was lying next to her. She had countlessly followed the dire sword trace with her fingers, with her lips. She had murmured words of comfort against his tortured skin. And now it was bleeding, burning, and wide open as if the red blade had left it only moments before.

"I can heal you", she whispered.

"And what good will it do?" he snarled, his teeth still clenched.

"Not the wound, Murtagh. You have rested for a while now, so hear my words. It's the reason I have followed you, the very reason which brought us both here, into weak hiding, yet safe for a while."

He painfully turned to face her determined gaze.

"You want to confront him?"

While waiting silently in the cosy antechamber, Arya's thoughts were running wild, throwing her back and forth between memories and hopes. She faced perhaps the most difficult choice in her lifetime, and that was not a short one at all. Struggling between her own sake and the benefit of the world was not easy, even for an Elf with her power and experience. Feelings. She thought they have been left behind.

At the beginning, she was just amazed, and maybe curious to learn of his ways. But as the days advanced and news of the last stand approached, she discovered a small light bud into the grey, ready to bloom, to burst into emotion. It was a dangerous path, and now she had to decide whether it was worth the risk.

"Mother, I need your wisdom. I need your hands, and the ancient sap flowing inside them."

"The stranger, child?"

Arya flinched. The Queen just smiled.

"He's troubled. He's fighting in a personal manner a war not belonging to him."

Yes, she had been into his mind, though he'd allow her there only reluctantly. She had seen the atrocities, heard the filthy words, and shivered at the sight of the tortures that madman calling himself King was displaying there. Yet she had seen some other images, just splinters, and sparks, moments of sheer joy. She knew it well.

One day she heard him laughing. And Murtagh laughed so seldom …

"I … care for him, Mother."

Islanzadí nodded.

"I thought so."


	3. Broken

Part Three – **Broken**

_Caressed by the sharpest knife_

_I asked you to be my wife_

_Rays of the settling sun_

_Were my tears wept upon promises undone_

(Nightwish – **Astral Romance**)

Ants. Swarming hastily over his bleak eyes.

Nothing could heal him, no one could save him. The Queen's wisdom, her daughter's love, the ancient chants, and all the forgotten rites.

It was like a plague, carving his insides, twisting his mind. He fought, oh, he fought for dear life, for freedom he fought, for the right to breathe his way into another day. But his destiny was set, the dark figure in his head roaring with laughter, the red sword hidden under his cloak bearing the colour of fresh blood.

He was to become a soldier of the Dark.

And there came a day like no other, with clash of weapons, and spells carried by the wind. The Menoa tree was shaking, its roots moaning, its branches falling one after the other. The one who had been a mere child came then, carried by the most beautiful dragon Human or Elven eyes had ever seen, known by the name of Saphira. And proudly bearing the aknowledgement of a warrior, he dug at the roots of the tree, where the blade had been waiting for him. Blue, like the scales of his dragon companion were.

She needed all her strenght to prevent Murtagh from getting out, and she felt weaker and weaker, struggling with him in a dangerous dance of life and death.

"I'll hide you!", she shouted, she whispered, she almost begged.

"And what of my pride?", he answered, clashing her against the wall.

His eyes were blank, so gaunt his gaze, the look of a madman. The elders would have said, had they seen him, he was the clear image of a Dragon Rider who had once betrayed their hopes.

"I prize more your life than your pride", she snapped, cleaning the blood off her face.

For the sake of a moment, he seemed tame again. Wild in his looks, tame at heart. Acknowledging what she had never told him before.

"In another Age, I'd ask you to be my wife".

As water quenches fire, Blue conquered Red. And when he fell, he was not defeated.

The Elven tears fell, yet she was not defeated either. The blade in her hand was red, her thoughts black. Her soul had been sold under the Menoa tree.


End file.
